November 9. [from home: Scatterlings of Africa]
“God breaks the heart again and again until it stays open.”
—Hazrat Inayat Khan
Creatively, I feel rather scattered. My creations in progress are scatterlings. They are many. My art is nearly always, or always, [?] a mirror of my life, of me, of my shadow, all of that, Some of that. But at the same time, the world where my scatterlings live and breath and struggle is always sacred. It is where spirit whispers and plays.
But there is light amongst the little fragments. These nameless fragments that come from my hands over time, that collect and grow and find little ponds and caves as temporary homes, while their bones form. I feel growing impatience and frustration. I wish for them to feel more understood and to speak up a bit. I feel awkward in their indecision. my indecision and awkwardness. They resist. I resist.
acceptance.
A friend of mine, Meltem, has started growing succulant plants on her terrace. Self taught.
She is amazing, check her out! She is also an artist, from Turkey and is settled here in Palermo Sicily.
She was explaining to me, and showing me the process of growing [propogating!] suculant plants from 'leaves' cut from existing plants.
You basically lay the 'leaves' on top of dry-ish soil, and slowly, over time, as they start to need nourishment and food, they will naturally root themselves into the earth, and grow!
You have to be strong and leave them to do it themselves, you don't give them extra water or try to help them too much. I think it is a magical experience or metaphor for holding space and witnessing and believing in magic!
I found this such an emotional experience really. It reminded me of a new born, [Gabriel in 2013], who 'roots' to find his mothers milk. They do this, naturally, as brand new little humans. It is incredible.
Enjoy this beautiful magical garden story that Meltem is growing, out of thrown away and found plants, or borrowed leaves and the odd treasures found from some squirrled away part time plant sellers discovered on walks of curiosity in the city of Palermo.
And so brings me to now and today. I am writing this, with the intention, that the process, I hope, brings some connection, perhaps cohesion or just a start at the gathering of scatterlings.. the hand made scatterlings. Here are some familiar friends... among others.
I am pondering why it is that my process for the last few months or even the last year or two, feels so frustratingly disjointed and scattered, as if nothing quite wants to be finished and yet demands to be worked on.
It's as if everything is on the brink of taking a hand out of its pocket to be held and listened to, but at the last minute puts its hand back in it's deep dark pockets. Or it's on the brink of speaking but shuts the door, and goes all quiet, watching through the key hole.
I am reminded about my part
stitched heart on the wall which has been part made for the longest time. I started it because I wanted to make my heart, to understand my
heart and to find a remnant of homeliness in my heart. a center, of
sorts.
"Collect your memories carefully, fold them up and bind them together with a strong thread; lest we forget the fragile beauty, hidden in today's moment"
Emma Parker
Some days, lately, I feel as if I am doing that, slowly but surely. As I started this blog, I think I even felt that energy tingling a little at the end of my finger tips.. today I stitched quite a lot, and listened to a podcast about Thomas Merton, who I discovered in a little bookshop in Glastonbury many years ago. He was an American Trappist monk, and one of the great Mystics.
He wrote many wonderful books about prayer and meditation and solitude etc. Many books. I loved The Seven Story Mountain, and No Man is an Island . Of course, he remains on my to read list as well as my to re-read list!
This podcast is fascinating. It is an interview with Robert Hudson who wrote a book about Merton in the 60's and his real life experiences with music - Bob Dylan, Joan Baez and also his predicament where he faced a life changing choice - to choose the woman he loved or the devoted solitude of the monk's life and he chose the monks life. He said he loved this life more than he loved the woman.
'The Monk's Record Player: Thomas Merton, Bob Dylan and the Perilous Summer of 1966' - which I havent yet read!
I felt sad about that, in a way. Not so much in what he chose, but that he had to choose at all . Deep connection with another person is one of our most sacred gifts of self preservation and joy that we have. At the same time, deep connection with spirit is also one of our most sacred gifts of self preservation and joy that we have.
Perhaps the 'The Road Not Taken' is everyone's path in a sense. What we choose .. what we choose..
"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.
[…] 'Things falling' apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We
think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem,
but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together
and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart
again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room
for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for
joy."
Pema Chodron - 'When things fall apart'
It made me look at my heart on the wall, half made, half broken, in limbo. still waiting and wondering in the wings, a little precariously, a little nagging-ly, alluringly, - depending on the day.
I read somewhere: 'A broken Heart is an Open Heart' and I also read that we heal through spontaneous acts of love.
I will collect scattered fragments about love, for my heart.
I will focus on stitching and mending and caring for my heart and the rest of the fragments , and the scatterlings will find their way home, like Meltem's little succulant plants that root themselves into the soil and just grow, as we hold space and hope.
I will try to do some acts of spontaneous love
Any my last little wonderful morsel I found about hearts, from the On Being Project
Until the Heart Stays Open
Next blog, I hope to write news about my scatterlings and their journey home....in the moment.
